I love the smell of dawn on the Tenerife coast. The air bears scents you don’t smell during day nor during night – a mixture of ozone, the scrub of the dunes, and a freshness, which melts under the warmth of the sun. The silence, as the first light seeps along the horizon, is vast and exquisite. It surrounds you as the landscape stands on tiptoe, waiting for the new day’ s first sounds, and you hope it be the cry of a bird, or the whispering of ocean to earth, and not the ugly sounds of men.
It has to have been an awfully good drop of wine which has made me sleep in and not want to get down to the beach.
I am ridiculously happy with this photo, because it’s taken me 3 years to achieve it! I knew that sooner or later the sun would be rising in line with this pathway down to Playa Cabezo. I’ve taken snaps here before, but never managed to get it quite so framed as this morning. I must have taken about a dozen, but this is also the only one where that wave is trickling in just that way.
Yesterday I left the house three times. Once I wore a waterproof jacket, and the other times just heavy sweatshirts. Guess on which occasion it did not rain! C’est la vie!
So this morning I poked my head out of the window to sniff the air before I stepped out. The streets looked damp, but not wet, but there was still that smell of rain in the air (that exists, although perhaps if you live somewhere like England it’s possible to be so accustomed to it that you no longer notice), so I donned waterproof and beenie and we trotted forth.
An incandescent blue was beginning at the end of my street as we turned left for Playa Cabezo, and in the couple of mintes it took to reach the Paseo Maritimo the clouds on the horizon had a distinct yellow edge, a happy sign that the storm was passed. We stolled slowly past the junipers which obscure the beach, Trixy doing that which a dog’s gotta do, and when we could see the horizon again it had adopted a much rosier hue. It was shaping up to be a glorious sunrise, and so we stood and watched, as the remnants of the dark storm clouds succombed to the sun’s greeting.
There is a point at sunrise where the colors fade, between the peak of their intensity (above) and the actual appearance of the sun, which is a whole other vista, and so at that point we turned for home, because there were chores to do, before my first class at 10.
It’s looking like the worst may be over, although outside my window right now looks like an English August Bank Holiday on Blackpool Promenade (you need to know the north of England to get that reference, sorry!). The point being, however, that this is winter and this would be summer in England.
As the day dragged on yesterday, the streets were abnormally quiet, especially for a Sunday. Walking around town around lunch time, cafés and bars were already giving up and stacking their tables. Everywhere here relies on having seating outdoors, even if normally protected from the wind by blinds or awnings. But this wind was coming from the opposite direction, and foiled their attempts at protection. Two valient (or foolhardy), middle-aged couples meandered around the main plaza, the women dressed in white trousers and frilly blouses, the men in nicely-pressed shorts, you could see they were pretending they weren’t cold – tourists then – everyone else was clad in sweats or waistcoats, even though they sported shorts and thongs. There were only a couple of small boats still moored up within the harbor. There are never that many, but clearly most had been taken out of the water, being tethered is one of the worst places to be in a big surge, and sure enough one of the two was half-sunk this morning. The other, I think, had broken its mooring and was rescued during the night.
In that way that storms move, it was almost dark before 6 o’clock, and it seemed that the worst was approaching, but it lightened briefly before night fell, and with the night came the high point of the storm. In Plaza Roja outside my window the palm trees bent over and the rain was horizontal. It was a scene familiar from tv news coverage of hurricanes. I read online of hurricane-force winds being recorded up in Izaña by the Observatory, they were saying 199 km per hour, but this morning it says 149km – still pretty windy!
It passed quickly. In fact, I’ve never known a storm to pass over as quickly. Hurricane Delta in 2005 rattled my shutters for hours. But I wasn’t venturing out. I watched pictures of the rescued boat, floods right across the plaza from me (but hidden by buildings, so no direct view) on the internet and turned in for any early night, expecting to be woken by the winds again, but the only things which broke my sleep were text messages and the neighbors screaming at each other at midnight.
The pictures were taken yesterday. This morning the sky met the ocean in endless grey, and Trixy and I were drenched on our morning walk.
You read that with a shrug of the shoulders perhaps? It’s a common occurence in some climates of course, but not so much in south Tenerife. The last time I remember dog walking in the rain was three years ago. I felt sorry for my neighbor scurrying out with her wee dogs in the half light, dressed only in leggings and sweater, holding another sweater over her head. Looks like she doesn’t have the right clothes for rainy days!
We are momentarily in that weird calm as one swathe of rain clouds have passed over us, and another is fast approaching. The next one is looking denser and is driven by high winds, gusts up to hurricane force are forecast, although that will probably be in the north.
Main beach El Médano mid-morning
By mid-morning the first phase past, El Médano’s beach looked almost normal …. except for the absence of people. This is how it normally looks early morning, folk walking and running and exercising, but by mid-morning the sunworshippers are normally out. The market was cancelled, not that many folk had turned up it seemed, the ones who obviously had come for that were wandering aimlessly around, as bars and cafés decided to chance it and set out their tables. These businesses rely so much on good weather, almost all have terraces, and many have nothing but terrace. They wouldn’t make a living from the number of covers indoors.
The two events I’d planned to go to this weekend are postponed until the storm is past, which leaves the usual dilema, what does one do here on a rainy day? Museums are open and free Sundays, but the drive to Santa Cruz and then the walk from the parking to a museum are not appealing. So, it’s looking like a possibly productive weekend.
I don’t often post pictures just for the sake of it. I think of this blog as more about the writing than the photos, but this morning’s sunrise was, quite simply, too lovely not to share.
It hadn’t looked too promising when I first got down to the Paseo Maritimo
…but as I waited it began to spread and glow. Glorious morning……would be so nice if this day fulfills its promise.
Today I should have been out celebrating and enjoying myself, quaffing some local wine and no doubt stuffing myself with traditional foods, whilst listening to Canarian musicians and learning more about “my” island. However, I wasn’t, instead I am lying on my couch, amusing myself by writing this to distract myself from the constant urge to empty the contents my stomach. All is not perfect, you see, in paradise. I seem to have food poisoning.
In lieu of joining the celebrations I thought I might do one of those boring posts which really belongs in a tour operator’s webpage, but which will relieve both my boredom and my self pity by reminding me how much I enjoy being here.
Traditional Tenerife: You would be surprised at just how many folk possess and wear with pride their traditional dress. There is said to be a different variation for every municipality on the island.
El Día de Canarias
The first parliament of the autonomous region, Canary Islands, sat on May 30th 1983, after a long wait. The creation of autonomous regions had first been undertaken by the government of the Second Republic in 1931, but by the time the Civil War broke out in 1936 nothing had been implemented in the political bickerings which preceded the Civil War - and of course everything then went on hold during the war and the consequent iron grip which Franco had on the country.
With his death in 1976 many of the reforms and projects which had been abandoned or iced began to resurface, and the new (and current) Constitution, drawn up in 1978, provided for the establishment of autonomous regions and some decentralization of government, and so the Autonomous Parliament of the Canary Islands was born.
May 30th was declared a fiesta (bank holiday) in celebration of its birth, and the day is marked throughout the islands with displays of traditional crafts, sports, costumes, foods and music.
Historical Tenerife: The original capital of the island, La Laguna. An UNESCO World Heritage Site and seat of the province’s university, it is both charming restoration and vibrant hub of the island’s creativity.
Tenerife
Tenerife, for anyone who is new to my blog, is just one of the seven main islands which make up the Canarian archipelago. It’s been my home base now for over 20 years. It has an image in some European circles of being merely a mass-tourist destination, but it is so much more, and if you need proof then just check some previous posts.
Since I can’t give you a first-hand report on the festivities to which I didn’t go, I offer you, in honor of this day, a photo essay of this island of Tenerife, showing its different faces, its variety and perhaps an understanding of why it fascinates me so much.
Musical Tenerife: Two things come to mind when you combine the words Tenerife and music – folk music and the salsa of Carnaval, but there is so much more for lovers of all kinds of music. This photo was taken at the annual Santa Blues Blues Fest in June. July sees a prestigious jazz festival, autumn an opera season and year round classical music lovers can listen to the Tenerife Symphony Orchestra.
Coastal Tenerife: tanning addicts swarm to the resorts, but there are also plenty of quieter, more natural beaches to be found.
Gourmet Tenerife: In recent years the standards and aspirations of restaurants and hotels have simply soared. You can now find cuisine from almost anywhere in the world, and quality equal to big city eateries. This sushi at Restaurant 88 in La Caleta, Costa Adeje.
Mountainous Tenerife: The island’s mountains actually come in all shapes and sizes from lushly forested ones on the north east tip to the surreal volcanic landscapes of the Teide National Park, home to Spain’s highest mountain, El Teide.
Wine Lovers’ Tenerife: Canarian wines were famous as far back as the 17th century, and were famously (for we English-speakers) mentioned by Shakespeare on more than one occasion. Tenerife boasts no less than 5 regions. Oh, and I throw in here cheese too, because the goats’ cheeses are the perfect accompaniment!
Hiking Tenerife: Volcanic badlands, lush forest, coastal trails a walker’s heaven, in other words.
Tourist Tenerife: This is, believe it or not, the only Tenerife which some people know. I am a beach addict, but this is my least favorite face of the island, which is not to rubbish it. It’s just that sharing a beach on this scale is not my thing, but clearly it is for thousands, and the municipalities of the south, mainly Arona and Adeje cater for mass tourism, leveling rocky stony beaches, building hotels (the more recent ones of very high standard) and generally attempting to cater for every whim of the sunseekers. Tenerife does not have the prettiest beaches in the world, but they are some of the sunniest.
Agricultural Tenerife: OK the photo is just a bit of a stretch, and may have been more appropriate under the “traditional” heading, but it’s just that I love oxen. These days they are, so far as I can make out, brought out only for fiestas and other traditional events, but were an important part of the island’s history at one time. There are none of the huge farms of the US prairies or even the big farms I’ve seen in Scotland here, but thanks to co-operatives bananas, tomatoes and the famous Canarian potatoes are still exported, though not to the extent they were in history. Did you know that London’s Canary Wharf was named for the islands? So great was the volume of exports to England alone at that time.
Shop-till-you-drop Tenerife: Neither the Via Veneto nor the Champs Élysées, nevertheless shop shopaholics can have a ball in the swisher parts of the southern resorts and in the island’s capital, Santa Cruz, these days.
Sporty Tenerife: Surfing, windsurfing, hiking, cycling, paragliding, sport fishing, running, golf, kite surfing, climbing, trail running, triathlons, tennis…….that’s just off the top of my head, the sports which immediately come to mind.
Delicious Tenerife: Fine dining apart, Tenerife has a wealth of simple and traditional dining too, with fresh ingredients sourced locally from mineral-rich farmland, the variety of the ocean and locally raised goat and pork. Go inland to find small bars and restaurants, or to the kiosks at the fiestas.
Cultural Tenerife: Santiago Calatrava’s magnificent auditorium in Santa Cruz is symbolic of the wealth of island’s Cultural (with a capital C you note) events. An icon of modern architecture it is home to the symphony orchestra and scene of ballet, opera, jazz, world music, modern dance and many other events. In addition the capital has the historic Teatro Guimerá and La Laguna is home to Teatro Leal. Then there are museums, art exhibitions, photo exhibits and other events galore. Granted, you may need to speak some Spanish for some of these, but a little can take you a long way.
Romantic Tenerife: They tell me we have the best sunsets (and I would add sunrises) in the world. Since I haven’t been everywhere yet I can’t confirm that, but, well, they are pretty amazing.
Quirky Tenerife: I suppose everywhere has its quirky side, but I would put money on it I could snap a photo every day of something out-of-the-ordinary here!
Floral Tenerife: This was the hardest photo to decide, so in the end I chose two. Bouganvillea, hibiscus, geraniums, marigolds and heaps of other domesticated flora decorate the towns, villages and cities of the island, but only in the mountains will you find the tajinaste, indigenous to the island and found in the wild no where else on earth.
The almond trees, on the other hand, were brought by the Conquisadors, their flowering marks the beginning of a new season in January, and the nuts are the base of many artisan sweets.
Travelers’ Tenerife: Finally Tenerife as gateway to the archipelago, the launching point by ferry or by local airline to the other islands in the chain.
Just kidding, people. There used to be a T-shirt back in the 90s with words to that effect, or a little cruder, to be honest, and whilst petty bureaucracy and inefficiency have been taking their toll of me to a huge extent of late, there are times when living here is, well, heavenly!
Yesterday, for instance, my day began like this:
And ended like this:
And for once the bit in between was entirely satisfactory :=) But no time to scribble about it now, I’m off to inhale a bit more of the wonders of Mother Nature, but I will fill in the gaps ….. soon.
Worry not, I’m not nearly good, nor prolific enough a photographer to do a “today’s photo” thing, but I did think yesterday’s sunrise was worth sharing. I’ve seen more dramatic, but this was just so lovely and peaceful….possibly because of the lack of wind! And maybe I’m being a bit Pollyana because, honestly, much as there is to recommend both El Médano and Tenerife, it isn’t always just like this! Still, nice, eh?
Instantly awake, I was aware of a faint light and a rustling sound. Surprisingly, my body kicked in more quickly than it usually does in the comfort of a bed. I was in a cave, and it was pitch black except for the point of Austin’s head torch, as he wriggled free of his sleeping bag. I’d gone to sleep with my own torch still over my beanie, but it wasn’t there now, and I fumbled around where my head had lain on a jacket stuffed into the bag for my sleeping bag. I clicked it on and began my own wriggling. A true gentleman, Austin had given me his bivvy bag as well as a sleeping bag, so it was a bit more complicated.
I freed myself and ducked outside the shelter of dead branches under which we’d slept, and stretched. Austin already had the camping stove going, and the gas hissed, filling the stillness. He handed me an energy bar and a warming cup of cappuccino, as he began to stuff things back into his backpack. Once everything was packed up, we double checked, and then treble checked to make sure that all we were leaving behind were our footprints, and paused to adjust our head torches.
In the silence I was aware that even the tiny stream which we had discovered the previous evening was still, no doubt it was frozen by now, we’d found ice all around it at dusk. There was no other sound, and the quiet was, quite simply, overwhelming. Overhead, stars and planets filled the heavens, so that the sky was more shining jewels than darkness, and the light pollution from Santa Cruz, which had framed the hills opposite, was less evident than at night. For anyone who hasn’t seen this kind of clear night sky, so overwhelmingly full of pin points of brightness, it’s impossible to convey either the beauty or the feeling of one’s own insignificance in the universe that it sparks.
We clambered down to the path below, guided only by the pools of light afforded by our head torches, found the path and set off upwards, me all excitement because I was promised another surprise. You can get an idea of just how dark it was at this stage in the short video below, which Austin made.
With thanks to Dido & Lynard Skinnard for the music!
We quickly reached the point at which the path up to the peak of Guajara crosses another which we later found goes to Granadilla de Abona. We turned right and upwards, me thankful that I was following Austin, who from time to time called out a warning about loose rocks or advice about where to place my poles. Other than our own footfalls and the faint thump as pole hit earth, utter silence followed us.
“It’s as if the circle of light in front of you is your entire world, and you can just forget everything else, and just concentrate on that,” commented Austin.
It seemed to me that it was just as well that it was dark and progress was, necessarily, slower than in daylight because I was feeling the effects of the climb, combined with too little sleep and food, and I would best describe my pace as a trudge, speeded up in spurts by Austin’s urging to speed up in case I missed my surprise. Second by second the skies were lightening though, and when turned off our torches I was surprised that it was, actually, easier to spy what lay ahead than with the false light.
Looking back, I could see that what we had already traversed was mainly scrub, as Austin pointed out really it’s high altitude desert. We were well passed the really rocky parts, though the path had narrowed to almost nothing in a couple of places. Looking way down, the lights of the airport and coastal villages glowed, and now, just as we turned upwards again, and into a field of broom, the horizon began to glow with intense purple light. Looking back again after a few more steps and it was turning orange and scarlet, like the colors of some exotic bird.
Ahead I could hear Austin urging me on, even though this sight was mesmerizing, apparently there was something more in store. I admit freely the last few feet were hard, but I began to understand, as I saw the warm alpen glow on the mountain peaks, and then, suddenly we were atop Alto de Guajara, and El Teide rose before us, bathed in the sun’s first light. Guajara’s peak is 1,000 meters lower, but we seemed to be on top of the world.
Then I saw my surprise – for just a short time at sunrise, the shadow of Mt Teide is cast over the Atlantic Ocean. I’d read about it, and seen photos, but it hadn’t occurred to me that I would see it this day. The scene had an almost mystical quality – no wonder that the Guanches apparently worshipped this imposing mountain. We watched, in awe as the sun rose, and the colors of the landscape changed, basking now in the new day, as we picked out places we knew in the caldera far below.
Once we our senses were saturated, Austin lit the little stove, and made hot chocolate and biscuits for breakfast. Yet again, I wouldn’t have swapped places within anyone brunching in the poshest restaurant in London or even Paris. Right on the top of the mountain there is a rough shelter, a square-ish kind of pen which gives you some respite from the icy morning wind, and I suppose you can bivvy there too, but it would have been mighty cold! Once we’d eaten and warmed up, we set off back, meeting only two other walkers on the section of the route, a local father and son.
We crossed the desert again, turned at the point where the routes meet and descended to where, the day before, the mists had been creeping up the hillsides, now the valley was clear, the scrubby mountainsides, the pine forest and right down to the coast.
We didn’t meet other folk until we got down to the final downhill section, where a couple of trail runners huffed passed, and a handful of German tourists wound their ways up, then we were back on the almost level Siete Cañadas trail and homeward bound, still marveling at the bizarre rock formations, casting off layers as we went and looking forward to getting our boots off!
Things sometimes happen which make you feel truly alive, which alert all your senses, which have become deadened by the comforts of modern life, which cut us off from reality, and allows us to live in what is almost a virtual world. For me this was one of those times. I’d like to think I’ll be able to do something like this again, right now I don’t know, but the memory will definitely motivate me on several levels for a while yet.
And just to reiterate: Camping as such is strictly prohibited in the National Park, what we did was bivvy, nothing was driven into the ground or otherwise disturbed. We left, hopefully, only footprints.
I’m an early morning gal by instinct. So long as I get just enough sleep I can get up at any hour without problem, but of late I’ve been keeping odd hours, what with moving and the festive season. That’s why, faced with the prospect of getting up at 6am yesterday, and having done everything right to assure a good night’s sleep, I didn’t – sleep that is. The fear of not getting up in time gnawed at my brain, which then fooled my body into thinking it wasn’t comfortable, so that I tossed and turned all night.
Trixy and I trotted down to the end of the street in the darkness. She hates it. She’s a daytime gal too. I made strong coffee, and we were off to meet up with Maria at 7am at the autopista junction. I even managed to get a lousy #walkingwithTrixy pic of the Christmas lights, still shining bright in the morning gloom.
We were headed for Poris de Abona, just beyond the beach about which I wrote last month. When I was pottering about on that evening it struck me that a good sunrise from around there, complete with lighthouse, might be quite spectacular. Maria and I decided, oh, let me see, about five years ago that we would do a project to record all the island’s lighthouses, and this was the first time we’d actually set out to do it! It’s been one of those things life got in the way of, although don’t hold your breath waiting for the complete set of photos! Still, it’s a start.
As we meandered through the sprawl which is Poris, the sky, which had been coal-black only minutes before, began to pale on the horizon, and light leaked along the line where sky meets ocean. As I inched “Fred” (my faithful, old car) over the bumpy terrain beyond the proper road, and to the foot of the lighthouse, the pale was already turning to crimson. Photographing sunrises and sunsets is such a “time is of the essence” thing. We abandoned the coffee, left Trix to guard the car and wandered off, clicking happily away.
There is a point to a sunrise, here at least, where the sky is pale blue, but the sun hasn’t actually shown its face. The spectacular part is before it actually rises. In that space we moved a bit further up the coastline to capture the emerging sun. We could see the outline of its fore-glow seeping along the tip of the purple mass of the island of Gran Canaria.
We were a short distance apart but with the noise of the waves crashing onto the ragged coast I couldn’t make out what it was that Maria shouted, but I looked over to see her gesticulating excitedly and swinging her tripod around. When I glanced behind me El Teide and the surrounding mountains were bathed in the reflection of a sun we hadn’t even seen yet. It it any wonder that ancient peoples found something magical and godlike in those peaks?
You have only minutes, in the absence of cloud, to photograph a sunrise, before the sun is too bright, at least with the equipment we have, and with the wind rising I found myself unexpectedly nervous. My determination (I hesitate to use the world resolution because the failure rate on New Year’s Resolutions makes the phrase an oxymoron!) is to improve my photography this year, and I don’t think this attempt was that good, but for the record, here it is.
With the rising, the mountains turned back to brown and green, and the horizon became too bright, but the early sunlight was reflected in the foam and spray as ocean crashed onto rock, and close to shore the sea took on a turquoise hue it would lose with the brightness.
One more turn around, to see the lighthouse clear in the early morning sunshine, for now it was sunshine and not sunrise, and it was time for that coffee, and one of the great things about rising early with the sun is that the day still stretched before us, new and full of possibilities.
